All That Pain
by Mockingjay.Werewolf
Summary: "Minho wanted to kick himself, if only he had noticed the dead Griever was not actually dead. If only he had made it back in time. He would have saved Alby the pain, he would have saved Newt the pain. Newt didn't deserve all this... Didn't deserve to spend one night all alone, without Minho to hold him, to tell him that it was going to be okay."


**All That Pain**

Minho didn't think he would make it back, but he did. Newt was pretty darn angry at him, and why shouldn't he? For leaving Newt alone, letting Newt worry about him, letting Newt think that he was dead. But relief showed through his eyes. Soon, the adrenaline died away, the pain started setting in. He felt the pain not just in his legs, he had gotten used to that from running. But his stomach hurt like crazy, probably got a gash from one of those Grievers.

The next few minutes were a blur, Newt took charge immediately, sending Minho and Thomas to the Med-jacks, sending Gladers to bring Alby down from the ivy. Minho found himself whisked away to the Homestead. The Gladers had crowded around to watch, most of them had amazed looks on their faces, which was explainable, and Minho didn't know if he was just too dazed, but they looked frightened.

And they had every right to, Minho probably wasn't looking his best. He took one look down at his shirt and almost wished he hadn't. Blood had soaked through his shirt, which was torn anyway, dying the pale blue material copper red.

He found himself sitting on a bed in the makeshift infirmary. Someone had removed his backpack, he couldn't remember who, maybe it was himself. His mind wasn't working right, the trauma of last night had begun to set in.

'Newt,' Minho said, shocking himself. His voice was croaky, like he hadn't used it in ages. This provoked Jeff, the Med-jack on duty, to shoot him a worried look.

Jeff handed him a bottle of water, only for Minho to push it away. 'Look, Minho, you need to drink,' Jeff said, his tone held a stern determination.

But Minho was stubborn, everyone knew that. 'Newt, I want Newt,' he said firmly. Jeff sighed. If there was an award for stubbornness, Minho would have gotten it. Shuck that, Minho probably refused to come out of the womb on the due date.

'Minho…' Jeff begun. But Minho wouldn't have any of it. Jeff gave up and left the Homestead to get Newt. Minho saw him go out, on normal circumstances, he would've felt a bit of satisfaction, but now all his mind could focus on was Newt. The guilt washed over him. He needed to see Newt, needed to apologize for leaving him alone, even if it was just for one night.

Minho didn't know how long it took, but it felt like forever. Newt appeared, his blond hair a mess, a smear of dirt on his forehead (God knows how it got there), and a very annoyed expression. But maybe deep down Newt was at least a bit happy to get away from the chaos in the Glade, Minho thought.

'What the bloody hell do you want now, Minho?' Newt asked harshly. Minho noticed how tired Newt looked. Newt always looked tired but today it was showing a lot more in his slumped shoulders and tired eyes.

'You,' Minho answered, not bothering with words. He hoped Newt would get it, he _knew_ Newt would get it. Newt always did. Newt's expression softened a little as he inspected Minho's injuries. He didn't ask any questions regarding Minho's night in the Maze, although Minho suspected that he would be forced to recollect it once he was in a slightly better state.

Newt's eyes naturally saw the blood first. He made Minho take off his already half torn shirt, only to find that it stuck stubbornly to the dried blood. After a while, he managed to help Minho pry it off, his knuckles lightly brushing against Minho's skin in the process, sending tingles down Minho's spine.

He thought about the innocent touches. How one little brush was enough to send a jolt of electricity down his spine, the thought of losing that touch forever… Some thoughts were best left alone.

Newt bit his lip when he saw the wound. One of the Griever's spikes must have created that gash. He wasn't an expert like Clint or Jeff, but he was fairly better at first-aid than most of the other Gladers.

He managed to wash off the blood and clean the wound, stopping whenever he heard Minho wince. Minho kept saying that it was okay, kept trying to reassure Newt, but Newt still worried. Newt always worried.

When Newt finally got that out of the way, he reached for the medicine on the table beside him. Minho chose this moment to start apologizing. 'Newt, I'm sorry,' he started. Newt's eyes met his brown ones, a bit confused. 'I'm sorry for leaving you alone yesterday night, I'm sorry, Newt.'

They were both silent. Minho had started to panic. Newt's fingers were still working on unscrewing the healing paste. 'I thought you were gone, Minho,' Newt said. His voice came out as a whisper. 'I couldn't sleep all night. I couldn't bloody lose you.' Tears had started to form in Newt's eyes, he blinked them away.

Minho tried to get up, only to find that the wound hurt when he moved. He let out a cry of agony. Newt almost dropped the healing paste. He managed to recollect himself and get back to helping Minho.

Minho prepared himself for the sting of the medicine, Newt gently applied to on his wound, using the same gentleness he had when he cleaned it, the same gentleness he always had with Minho. He stopped when Minho winced or showed any other signs of pain. Minho tried not to. His hands were gripping the edge of the mattress, as if for dear life. Minho bit his lip so hard, it was a wonder he hadn't drawn blood yet.

Newt reached for the bandages and climbed onto the bed so he could sit behind Minho to wrap his wound with the bandage. As he sat cross-legged behind Minho, which he could still manage despite his limp, his eyes focused on the scars on Minho's back. Anything to keep himself from crying, anything to keep himself from remembering the panic he had last night. The realization that he was going to lose Minho, and there was nothing he could do about it, the throbbing pain in his chest whenever he thought about Minho that night.

Minho wanted to kick himself, if only he had noticed the dead Griever was not actually dead. If only he had made it back in time. He would have saved Alby the pain, he would have saved Newt the pain. Newt didn't deserve all this, didn't deserve to think that he was useless just because of his limp. Didn't deserve to spend one night all alone, without Minho to hold him, to tell him that it was going to be okay, even though deep down Minho knew it wasn't. It was never okay, they were stuck in the Glade forever.

But forever wouldn't be so bad if he had Newt.

And Minho was sorry, that was all he could be. The guilt ate him up from inside. Newt noticed, Newt always did. He rested his hand on Minho's shoulder. 'It's not your fault,' Newt said in attempt to comfort Minho.

'It shucking is, Newt! I could have been faster, I could have been more careful!' Minho said. His voice as loud as it could get to shouting.

_I could have saved you all this pain._

Minho felt Newt's forehead resting on his back. Newt didn't care that Minho was sweaty and covered in grim from the Maze, he only cared that Minho was _here_. That Minho was alive, that Minho wasn't gone forever. It was just one night, sure, he panicked, he worried, but it was worth it if Minho was still alive.

'I let you worry, Newt, I'm sorry,' Minho choked out. He couldn't cry, he wouldn't cry, wouldn't make Newt worry any more than he already was. Newt reached for his hand, Minho took it in a heartbeat. Letting his fingers intertwine with Newt's slender ones.

'It's okay… You're okay,' Newt mumbled into Minho's skin. Minho was okay, so Newt was okay. Newt thought about their lives, how their lives were intertwined together, just like their fingers. Minho would run the stupid Maze a million times if that meant Newt would be happy, if that meant he could save Newt the pain.

But he couldn't do that, so he squeezed Newt's hand tightly, pushing the tears back, reminding himself that Newt would never pull another suicide as long as he lived. That Newt could live through this, as long as Minho came back. As long as Minho was there to hold his hand, wrap Newt up in his arms.

He felt Newt's steady breaths against his skin. He wished that they could stay like this forever, stay in one of these rare moments where they would forget about the Maze, forget about the Creators. Where Minho could feel Newt's skin pressing against his, where all Minho and Newt knew was that the other was here. And that they were okay, that they would be okay as long as they had each other to lean on. They were like two pillars leaning against each other, if one fell, so would the other.

And neither of them planned to fall, they would save each other from crumbling, from the pain, as long as they could.

They stayed like that for a while, just enjoying the silence, enjoying each other's company. Newt broke away to knot Minho's bandage and work on his smaller injuries. Minho let Newt fuss over him, let Newt forget about the havoc going on in the Glade, even if it was just for a while.

Newt made Minho lie down and sleep. Minho was too tired to argue. Newt sang him something, something they sang to calm you down, to get you to sleep. His fingers combed through Minho's hair even though there was nothing much to comb through anyway. Minho was half asleep when Newt kissed his forehead and told him that he had a Glade to run down there.

Minho tried to smile, but the darkness had claimed him. He fell into the dreamless sleep gladly, knowing that Newt was okay, and that Newt loved him. And that was enough.

But he could still never forgive himself for causing Newt all that pain.


End file.
